


Enjoy the Silence

by voyuerisims



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Telepathic Flirting, jonathan typical kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28495248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voyuerisims/pseuds/voyuerisims
Summary: Elias takes it upon himself to make sure Jon gets home safely.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	Enjoy the Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of very self-indulgent fluff,,,

Jonathan had hoped his night would end without event, that he would be able to crawl into the old cot stashed away in the archives and be back to his desk early enough that no one would know he’d yet again slept there. There was no way he could go back to his flat now, not if he wanted any chance at getting sleep which he so desperately was in need of. Just stepping outside filled him with dread, let alone that every trip back there risked leading _something_ to his home. He was too vulnerable beyond the walls of the Institute. Even a stubborn idiot like him had to admit that, after being kidnapped, let alone more than once. 

He thought for sure he was in the clear when Martin stopped by to say goodnight before heading home himself; after all, it was rare for anyone to visit his office without notice, let alone to do so after hours. Especially Elias, who had no real reason to bother making the trip if he wanted to know what the archivist was up to. 

Still, that was exactly who he was faced with, the rattle of the door knob twisting jolting him to attention. “Good evening, Jonathan,” his boss greeted as he invited himself in, not bothering to close the creaking wooden door behind him. “Working late again, I see; you’re not forgoing rest again, are you?”

Jon hated the way he said it--clearly disapproving, but tinged as usual with a gentleness unfitting for a man so cold. More than that, though, he hated the pretense that Elias even had to _ask_ why he was there. “Do you need something, Elias?” he said sharply in response, prompting the man to twist his brow with an exaggerated frown. 

“Should I not be concerned that one of my employees appears to plan on sleeping in an old break room?”

“That’s... I just, I think I’m close to a breakthrough with this case, and...” his voice trailed off through the flimsy attempt at an excuse as Elias approached, leaning across the desk. His face was now uncomfortably close, but the archivist didn’t bother drawing away from him.

“There’s no point lying to me, Jon. You have a change of clothes tucked away under your desk; you planned to sleep here. Why?”

Jon expected to feel that familiar crawling sensation along his spine that came with Elias’s questioning, to have an answer drawn out of him whether he wanted to give it or not, but strangely it didn’t happen. Those eerily pale blue eyes were locked onto his own with such intensity he thought for a moment that perhaps he’d somehow become immune to the compulsion, that surely that was the only explanation as to why his mind didn’t empty itself readily. 

_Because he isn’t compelling me, he isn’t_ looking _into me. He wants to hear me answer on my own._

He wanted to be upset with that revelation. He wanted to believe Elias was taunting him by doing this. It was easier that way, if he simply assumed his intentions were always sinister and that he was incapable of the humanity implied by such genuine concern.

Jon said nothing for what should have been too long. Elias didn’t repeat himself nor waver, just waiting, patiently, until finally the archivist yielded. To Hell with his pride; he was exhausted.

“I’m _scared_ , Elias,” he admitted, his voice low, steeped in agitation. “I haven’t slept more than a few hours in damn near a month now because when I set foot outside of this building I’m stuck constantly looking over my shoulder for some fear monster to come and drag me away to torment me.” Even more quietly, desperately, he added, “Please, I just need one night.”

His boss nodded thoughtfully as he spoke, his gaze softening now that he’d gotten the answer he was waiting for. For a brief moment as he stood back up straight Jon thought he might even concede easily, let him slink off in shame but without more fuss, but his hope faded as Elias put his hand on his chin the way he always seemed to do when he was scheming.

“This isn’t a hotel, Jon. Grab your things.” He wanted to protest, but... it was a fair enough ruling. Still, a wave of nausea shook his body at the thought of leaving, going out into the world where so many unknowns were poised to attack at any moment, and he knew he was trembling as he obeyed the instruction and threw his bag over his shoulder. He swore he saw a trace of a smile playing on Elias’s lips for just a moment before he spoke again. “I’ll drive you home, so you don’t need to worry quite so much.”

The archivist didn’t have it in him to argue. Even if it was just for the short ride back to his flat, sparing him the walk in the dark or navigating the trains back so late, having no choice but to cast suspicious glances at every person, shadow, sign of movement. It would be better than nothing.

“I, er... thank you, Elias.”

“I can’t have you being stolen out from under me again, now can I?” He grinned, this time undeniably, and despite the words seeming to mock him, Jon couldn’t help but to see a certain... warmth about it. Or maybe he really was just too tired for his own good.

As was typical for him, Elias made small talk as he escorted Jon to his car, despite receiving only brief, obligatory replies. He didn’t seem bothered at all by the archivist’s brevity, though. 

_He’s tired, too. Trying to keep himself alert._ His boss exhaled a satisfied puff of air as he was read, as if he could feel it clear as day.

_And... he isn’t taking me to my flat._ It didn’t take his burgeoning powers for Jon to realise that much, once he properly took notice of the neighborhood they were driving through. He didn’t live in a _bad_ area per say, but certainly nothing like this.

“Elias, where are you taking me exactly?” he practically growled. But he knew the answer. His boss hadn’t specified to _whose_ home he was driving him, and he was proud of his simple deception. 

“You’ll be much safer at my apartment than the archives,” he stated matter-of-factly. He was right--of course he was right, what avatar would be so bold as to try to ambush _him_ in his own den? Despite himself a protest rose in Jon’s throat, but Elias didn’t acknowledge it, instead turning on the car radio pointedly. 

He didn’t expect it to be tuned to some top 40s pop station, but then he wasn’t really sure what he _would_ expect. Elias was his boss, not his friend; he didn’t know much about his personal life at all. Until now he hadn’t thought he _wanted_ to.

It wasn’t like they had a particularly normal relationship, was it? Professionalism seemed little more than a habit of formality if he thought about it. He _would_ be safer with him nearby. And besides, it was a chance to glimpse how the elusive man lived, if only briefly.

Reservations about sleeping on his boss’s sofa were becoming less and less of a priority. He did his best to focus on his curiosity instead, but still there was a pit in his stomach when the car came to a stop and the archivist found himself trailing awkwardly behind his host up the steps. It came in waves, reminders that he was here because that same man had thrust him into the middle of an incomprehensible power struggle. Jon resented him, _hated_ him, yet here he was, clinging to him for some scrap of security. 

Here he was, watching him fumble ever so slightly with his keys to open his front door. Being invited into his home with a soft, “After you,” and wave of his hand. 

“Ah, are you hungry, Jon? It’s a bit late to cook, but I might have something in the freezer at least.” 

“Oh, er, no, thank you, I’m fine. I really just... need to rest.” The archivist cleared his throat, following suit when Elias toed off his shoes and pushed them against the wall by the door. His host casually made for the plush gray sectional and took a seat.

“If you’re sure. At least have a shower; you look like Hell, Jon.” _Down the hall, on the left. There are fresh towels in the closet._

_\----_

When Jon came back to the living room Elias was still there, now with his feet tucked beside him as he looked over the magazine in his hand intently. He had a pair of reading glasses perched on his curved nose, tapping a pen idly on his chin, looking so mundane the archivist could hardly reconcile the sight with what he knew to be his scheming bastard of an employer.

He also didn’t know what to make of the warm swell in his chest as again he was _knowing_ him, knowing that this was how Elias unwound in the evenings, pondering cheap puzzle books from the market.

“Better?” 

Jon cleared his throat. “Um... yes, thank you.”

“Good.” The archivist lingered in the doorway, unsure of what to do with himself, until Elias patted a hand on the sofa next to himself as if calling a cat.

Maybe it was because this was the first time in god knew how long that he was able to let his guard down at all, or because he hadn’t felt anything short of loathing from anyone in his life in nearly just as long, or just because he was just so damn _tired,_ but Jon did as directed with no further fuss.

“Your powers are developing nicely,” Elias told him after a beat. 

“What do you mean?”

“Did you think I didn’t notice you reading me tonight?” The man clicked his tongue, serving to make Jon’s face flush even hotter at being called out so directly. “It’s alright, of course; in fact, I’m quite pleased.”

The grin on his face and the pride in his tone did nothing to alleviate his shame. It made him feel... _good_. And that was far worse to deal with.

“I know it’s been a difficult adjustment for you.” Jon wished he could snap back, be offended by such a hideous understatement, but there was nothing but genuine sympathy in the words, _vulnerability_. “I’m sure it doesn’t seem like it, but I am sorry you’ve taken the brunt of this all.”

_He means it. He wants me to know he means it._

But why now, suddenly, was Elias so interested in being kind? After all these months of fighting an unknown battle, thrown about to his whims, _why_? Jon didn’t have a chance to put the question to words.

“I care about you, Jon, and I know when it’s time to put tough love to rest. You haven’t _needed_ my intervention thus far.” The archivist’s head was spinning at the explanation--only in part because it felt like it came in response to a thought he hadn’t even fully expressed to _himself._

He hadn’t noticed that at some point Elias had set his magazine down until the older man’s now unoccupied hand fell lightly onto his thigh. The fact that the touch set off butterflies in his stomach made the archivist want to grab his coat and bolt from the apartment.

Almost as much as it made him want to throw his reservations to the wind and lean properly into whatever the Hell sort of play at affection Elias was making. 

“I’m not some all-powerful being, of course,” Elias continued, softly rubbing into Jon’s leg with his thumb as he spoke. “I can’t promise that nothing will hurt you. But I _can_ assure you I will do everything I’m able to make sure I don’t lose sight of you again.”

_He hasn’t been in love in so long; he thinks that must be what this is, though._ The thoughts slipped freely into the Jon’s mind as if they’d been his own. He didn’t need more words to convey that he wanted to protect him; that not knowing where he was had filled him with some deep, long-forgotten fear; that it felt _right_ to have his archivist here, close to him, sheltered from the world. And for that the younger man was grateful, because he didn’t know what he could say. It was too hard to say it out loud.

Fortunately for him, for as attuned as he felt to his boss’s thoughts, his own would have been impossible for Elias _not_ to read. He did as he was wordlessly granted permission, moving his hand to cradle Jon’s face as he shifted to plant a chaste kiss on his lips.

_He’s chosen me._

_He loves me._

_He won’t lose me again._

  
  



End file.
